Burn the Witch
by ravenous.bunny
Summary: Holding hands, skipping like a stone, on our way to see what we have done. First to speak is the first to lie, but children cross their hearts and hope to die. [Leon x OC]


Traverse Town was the only place I'd ever known; a quiet village with cobblestone roads and brick homes and neighbors who minded their own business. Sure, helping Nana run the Accessory Shop meant having to make small-talk a lot, but no one gossiped, and there were no scandals, because we were all too busy living. It was great, growing up; until I was about 11, and started butting heads with adults. It was then that I realized I was basically the only kid in this town.

Nana never told me where my parents went, she just said that most young people thought living here was boring, and moved away via gummi ship. No matter how much I searched for a ship, or even blocks, I found nothing; as if these elusive ex-townies had never existed at all. I started reading the books hidden in the nooks and crannies of the shop, and borrowing books from the Item Shop, as well. I had learned as much as I could about gummi ships from the old manuals I found; and other worlds by reading biographies; and how to seduce non-existent male counterparts, from corset-ripper novels. My biggest problem at the time was boredom. Oh, how I loathed it. I wished something would just explode in Traverse Town and make things interesting; and when I was eighteen, that wish was granted.

"I wish you'd quit playing with those awful cards, Mona," Nana scolded, sweeping the steps inside the Accessory Shop.

I was sitting cross-legged on the counter, a spread of tarot cards before me. "I made these myself. They're not demonic," I replied. (I actually kind of hoped they'd be demonic at some point; but I'd made them years ago, by copying them from a book Nana used to prop up a table, so you'd think _something_ would have happened by now.)

She clicked her teeth, "Tsk! You need a better hobby than that."

Here we went again. The same conversation we'd had for the past six years, since I made the cards. "I've read all the books in town."

And, as I knew she would say, with tight lips and color rising to her cheeks, "Then _write_ a book! Anything but those awful cards."

And I said, per usual, without looking away from the cards I was reading, "I made these myself. They're art."

"Art is a painting. Those are witchcraft!"

And that part was sort of true – they were _some_ kind of magic, at least – so I'd redirect: "I have no friends, here, Nana, let me have this _one_ indulgence, alright?" And of course she looked sympathetic, walked over, kissed the side of my head, then walked out to "check the mail." What that really meant was, she was going to get drinks at the restaurant by the square, then go to the mailbox, laugh at how absurd it looked, and pass out on the bench beside it.

Before the cards, she took issue with my hair; before the hair, she took issue with what kind of bras I wear; before the bras, there were arguments every time I re-read the gummi ship manual, because as she said, "An obsession with old junk will sully your mind." (I was always tempted to make a penis joke, but always refrained.) Nana had a special way of finding the most irrelevant, unimportant things to bicker about for no reason. The reaction to these tarot cards was nothing new.

I had shuffled the deck of tarot cards a few times before starting a new spread. I laid seven cards face-down before me, staring at the identical pattern of a flower-shaped eye I'd drawn on each card, waiting for them to tell me which card to turn. In the book I studied when I was twelve, I'd read that tarot cards typically predicted the future via symbolism, and it took years of studying their complex meanings to read several cards at a time and get a somewhat specific response. I'd also read a story where two people fell in love in the timespan of three hours. You cannot rely on everything you read.

When the third card from the left began to hum and glow with a deep red aura, I knew that was the card that would speak to me about the future. I always used a seven-card spread to read what events would come up next in my life, and while they usually told me about a huge accessory sale or a fight with Nana, tonight was far more intense. I turned the card over, gazing into the artwork: the Page of Wands was holding his scepter out towards me, bracing himself on his gangly legs at the edge of a cliff. As if in a dream, I watched a scene unfold before me, within the borders of the card; the Page was staring down into a black abyss, his form suddenly changed to that of a boy in black garb, with a miserable countenance. A sense of loss crossed his attractive features, and with his free hand, he reached down into the abyss – but when he withdrew his hand, it was empty.

I turned the card face-down on the table, overwhelmed with the anguish portrayed by the card. There were times that I felt annoyed, if a card predicted a particularly nasty fight or an inevitable conflict; but never so desperately sad.

I gathered the cards before me and placed them back in my deck, tying them up with a green ribbon I took from the Accessory Shop materials. I stuck them in my backpack, a black bag with two leather shoulder straps, which also held a copy of _The Complete Gummi Guide_,a copy of _A Forbidden Desire_, a notebook with my various doodles and ramblings, and a half-eaten sandwich. I spent about twenty minutes cleaning up and shutting down the Accessory Shop, then took my sandwich, threw my backpack over my shoulder, and started munching as I walked outside. Nana was chattering away to the man at the restaurant, but other than that, no one was out this evening.

Nana and I lived in the house above the hotels in the Second District, where I headed now. The crisp night air raised goose bumps on my legs as it breezed against the thin fabric of my charcoal grey skirtpants; my light blue tank top had goose bumps raising on my tan arms, too. My shoulder-length, deep red hair was in a sidecut, tumbling down in slight curls on the right side (and yes, this was the haircut that had been the subject of a particularly lengthy episode of _Nana Disapproves_). Fresh air always refreshed me, but I felt uneasy, after that reading. The Page of Wands refers to someone of the male persuasion, and I was of the female; but I felt the loss so heavily that I worried I misinterpreted the card's meaning.

I shut the doors to the First District behind me, wishing the entryway was a little smaller and easier to maneuver; when I turned, a guy my age was laying on the ground immediately in front of the entrance. I slowly approached, trying to remember where I'd seen him before, because everyone in this town had lived here for years – but I didn't recognize him at all. He was laying belly-down with one arm stretched out so he could rest his head on it, the other folded beneath him; he had a scar across the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, and short brown hair falling across his teenage face. His white t-shirt was stained with what looked like soot and blood; his jeans were torn and tattered on the back of his left leg.

I stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to wake up, studying the troubled look of his creased brow and tightly shut eyes. I suddenly realized that he looked like the person the Page of Wands had become, and couldn't tell if I felt excited, or panicked.

"Um... Hello?" I said gently, not wanting to startle him. "Hello, sir?" I nudged his shoulder with the toe of my boot. "Are you okay?"

His eyes fluttered open, and he bolted upright, jumping to his feet and shouting, "Rinoa!" I gawked at him as he glanced around, then looked to me. "Where am I?" he demanded, and tried to step towards me, but swayed dramatically to his left.

"Oh, geez!" I reached out and grabbed his arm, helping steady him.

"Where _am_ I?" he panted, shoving my hand off him and stumbling into the wall.

"This is Traverse Town," I said, stepping back, giving him room to collect himself.

He tried to glare at me, dizzy blue eyes drifting in all directions, face stern with panic. "Where are my friends? Where's my gunblade?"

My brow knit, my eyes narrowing. "I don't really know what a gunblade is..." He was panting, slowly becoming able to fix his eyes on me, and I felt a surge of sympathy for him. "What are your friends' names?" I asked gently. "We can look for them."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand, leaning over to put the other on his knee. I watched him that way for at least two long minutes, hoping he was catching his breath. I waited for him to say something else, but he was silent.

"Um... Would you like some water, or something?" He looked up quizzically, and I thumbed to the building behind me. "My place is right there, I can get you some... water... or something..." I wondered how stupid I sounded, repeating myself like that.

"Water," he echoed.

I backed towards my door. "Okay, water. You can come inside, if you want, or, um..." He sank to the ground silently, knees in front of him, hand on his forehead. "Okay," I said. "That's alright, too. I'll bring you some water."

I hurried inside the door beside the hotel entrance, up the stairs, and into my and Nana's apartment. It had a joined living room and kitchen, with a bedroom on either side; a balcony stretched back to the alley, from the living room, and the kitchen had two windows gazing out over the district square. I went to the kitchen sink and stared down at the doubled-over boy.

"It's okay," I said to myself. "He's just a person. Just a... mysterious... young... person." I felt myself blush. "With pretty eyes. And a nice nose. –No, be cool. He just lost someone important. Be cool." I shook my head and stared at the sink, girding myself, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet at the side and filled it with water. I took a deep breath as I walked back outside.

"Here you go," I said, handing him the drink. He gulped it all down in seconds, not making eye contact, not thanking me or acknowledging me in any way. I tried to figure out how to politely ask where he was from, but he seemed disoriented. Friendliness, I decided, was the best way to help him. "I'm Desdemona. What's your name?"

Unsurprisingly, he was quiet for a long time before finally answering. "Leon. Call me Leon."

"Okay, Leon. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He began to stand, and rejected me when I offered to help him to his feet. "I'm _fine_." He stepped towards the stairs leading to the rest of the district, and lost balance, toppling over and cracking his head against the pavement.

I ran over to the door to the First District and shoved it open. "Nana!" I shouted, "Nana, help! Someone's hurt, over here!"

Nana had told me to leave Leon alone until tomorrow morning, then I could pester him all I liked – but I was worried that he was panicking, and worried that he'd leave just as soon as he came. Nana liked to sit outside and smoke nepheligeny root for a while before going to bed, but the minute her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light. She thought she couldn't be a bad influence if I didn't actually see her smoking with my own eyes. I guess the fact that her smoke drifted through my open window didn't occur to her.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, tarot deck in hand, listening to her feet pad against the hardwood floor as she snuck out to the balcony. Blue-grey smoke wafted through my room as I laid another tarot spread before me, seven, just as before; I was dying to know more about what was to come, now that something was really happening. My entire life had consisted of the Accessory Shop and this dull, dull town; but now, things were changing! My life was being altered, even as we spoke. Leon's mere presence opened up a world of possibilities. However he had gotten here, be it by gummi ship, or some other kind of technology that was past the knowledge of this town, that meant that I'd be able to travel and explore, too. As worried as I was for his comfort, I couldn't help but be elated by the prospect of adventure and new faces.

A card in the very middle of the spread began to glow white, and when I removed it, I felt my stomach flip. I had never drawn this card – the card of Death. Atop a white horse rode a knight in black armor, and he pushed the face of his helmet back to reveal a skull where a face should be. His horse reared back and his teeth chattered, a black smoke seeping from his mouth as the hooves of the horse came crashing down on—

But I flipped the card over in a hurry, feeling sick. Death was not a difficult card to read. Its meaning was very, very plain. I fancied myself an adult, who hadn't been afraid of the dark for quite some time, but I now felt the need to turn all the lights on. If I did that, though, Nana would ask what I'd been doing, why I was still awake, why I was scared, and _probably_ question me when I got a knife to hold under my pillow while I slept tonight. So I sat frozen on the floor, staring at my window, dread washing over me in slow, torturous waves that I hadn't felt since my age was a single digit. I sat back against the wall behind me, trying to comfort and calm myself. Surely, it was just paranoia. The excitement was just affecting my imagination. That's all it was.

"Help!" cried Nana from outside.

I ran out just in time to see her fall over the side of the balcony, something about the size of a child dragging her down. "Nana!" I called after her, rushing to look over the railing. There was a small soldier, in blue and red armor, trampling all over her, and my horror froze me stiff. I tried to call out as it tore into her again and again, but no sound came out. Slowly, a pink light lifted from her body, and the soldier bounded down the alley. Her heart was escaping her, literally floating away as her body laid on the ground. Tears fell from my eyes and I watched her body shiver, then dissipate, as though it'd never existed in the first place.

Time seemed to stop, then. I spent an eternity in shock, completely out of my own body, completely lost in astonishment and repulsion. I didn't want _this_. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't want any of this, anymore – no Leon, no possibilities. My world fell apart. My family gone, in a matter of moments, and I was helpless.

It felt like years passed before someone came to take me from that balcony. A man who called himself Cid was asking me what town he'd landed in, where a safe place was. I could barely speak; everything seemed blurry and distant when he led me to the First District. In a moment of illumination, it occurred to me that I was experiencing what the Page of Wands had; what Leon had. Overwhelming, infuriating, irreversible loss.

Morning came and breakfast was served at the restaurant, to me and the several newcomers at our town, before I had the coherence and wherewithal to process my situation. There were murmurs amongst the crowd, of darkness and surreal powers at work; a woman named Maleficent, a man named Ansem; and creatures called heartless. Cid was at the table beside me, telling Leon and two other girls about how they could make weapons infused with magic (thanks to someone named Merlin), and how to kill the heartless properly, and get rid of them so that no one else's heart was stolen. At that, Leon glanced my way. I stared down at my food, my resolve hardening. This wouldn't happen again. I would prevent it, this time. I would warn people, this time. I would do something about it, this time, instead of standing by like a deer in the headlights, watching my loved ones die.

"Magic, huh?" I said to Cid, interrupting whatever he'd gone on to say. "That kills the heartless?" The four of them stared at me, now, and my face went red as I wondered if was it strange of me to ask that.

"Yeah," Cid said, rubbing his nose with his thumb. "Sends 'em back to where they came. At least for a while."

I nodded slowly. "I'll help," I said.

"We'll need it," Leon muttered.


End file.
